


MOTHER: Vengeance [ARC 0: The Onyx Figurine]

by Ostricho



Series: MOTHER: Vengeance [1]
Category: Mother 1 | EarthBound Zero | EarthBound Beginnings, Mother 2: Gyiyg no Gyakushuu | EarthBound, Mother 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 15:59:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18641368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ostricho/pseuds/Ostricho
Summary: The prologue to an ongoing MOTHER 3 sequel. Greg and Trevor, a pair of brothers, quickly find themselves face-to-face with an otherworldly discovery. What does the mysterious treasure they've unearthed have in store for them?





	MOTHER: Vengeance [ARC 0: The Onyx Figurine]

It was a night of dim orange, light reflected in the humid skies, yet their fire blazed. It licked up at spongy marshmallows, fighting against the dusk with its own hearty glow. The late sunset rivaled its shine, yet only its heat could toast their snacks as they basked in its radiance. They shuffled, battling to hold their snapped branches farther into its core. Blades of grass swiped their ankles as a chorus of crickets blared into the backyard. An unfriendly yet familiar moisture seeped into their socks, wrinkling their toes. These sensations were familiar to Greg, and he had a name for them. He called them a Friday evening.

Greg sighed, his orange hair swirling, and leaned closer to the fire. His stomach, coated with a thin layer of sweat, clung to his shirt. A glaring tongue of fire pillared up, sizzling against the cool autumn air. They both reached for it, eager to place their marshmallows within the flame. When the two sugary globs met, Greg struck down at Trevor's thinner branch with a forceful burst. Trevor's stick surrendered, cracking in two at the same moment Greg gave a harsh belly laugh. His brother's marshmallow fell into the embers, bursting into a flash of light. The campfire consumed it, reducing it to black dust and a tuft of smoke.

Trevor shot a cross glare, but Greg was too occupied giggling into his fist to notice. Trevor, with an exasperated shrug, plopped the rest of his stick into the flames beneath. He turned to his left, leaned towards the cardboard box, and produced a broken handheld from its depth. Trevor popped the plastic cover off its back and investigated its splayed wires. His eyebrows remained furrowed, thoughts locked on those lost marshmallows. Greg kept snickering as his own prize darkened to a golden brown, awash in the steady heat.

"Hey, bro." Greg's words seeped out from between his knuckles. He struggled to silence himself, but infrequent wheezes leaked from his mouth.

Trevor shook his head and did not look up from the inner workings of the device.

"Would you care for a marshmallow, bro?"

"I give up on marshmallows," Trevor said. "You're not very nice to your _older brother."_

"I'm the older brother...!" Greg fumbled, and his crispy masterpiece almost joined Trevor's lost treats below. "By four minutes."

"Mom lied to you so you'd stop crying all the time," Trevor said. "And, you know, your immaturity shows. So you keep playing with your candy, I'll be fixing these old devices in the meantime."

"Aw, cool it." Greg grumbled, his eyes rolling behind his rectangular glasses. He passed his marshmallow across the fire, pointing it in Trevor's direction. "Take it, there's nothing to be mad about."

"That's fine." Trevor ran a hand through his jet-black hair. "You keep it."

"Okay." Greg did not drag the fireside debate on — he crammed the marshmallow into his gob and wolfed it down. It melted into sweet ambrosia before soaking down his throat. Greg smacked his lips, imitating the sundown crickets, as Trevor's fingers wiggled. 

They fell silent. Greg, finished with his magnum opus, sought to outdo his previous efforts. He reached into his plastic bag, produced a new marshmallow, and speared it on his stick. Trevor focused on achieving perfection in his own ways. His hands, nimble and practiced, threaded wires back into their places. His eyelids lazed, unexcited by the tried and true layouts of copper and steel. He was thirty-one years old. The inner workings of his radios and speaker boxes were no strangers to him. This radiometer was no different — each precise repair lingered in muscle memory. Greg gawked as Trevor pieced the disheveled device back into form. His mouth hung open, golden goop drooping down from his lower lip.

"Unbelievable." Greg shook his finger, scolding his brother without words. "Our day off, and you spend it fixing things. What are you trying to prove? You're more of an adult than me?"

"I am." Trevor's response was prickly, matching the electricity springing up to his fingertips. The machine, too, argued with Trevor. It bit at him, quarreling with each honed touch, yet he pressed on.

"I'll remind you," Greg said as he twirled his marshmallow stick, "that we finally moved out of mom's place last month."

"Whose idea was that?" Trevor, with a grunt, crunched a jostled circuit board back into its place. As the heart of the machine slid into its original position, a faint hum emanated. Trevor's ears tingled, and he let out a deep sigh before smiling. If a flawless marshmallow was Greg's passion, then this sound? It was an ethereal delight, like clouds dissolving on his tongue.

He hummed along with it, indistinguishable in tone, deep in mechanical meditation.

"Kicking us out was Mom's idea!" Greg stuck his nose in the air, and it glistened with sweat. "I'd help you with that junk, but it's my day off. Looks like you're making good progress on your own anyway."

"You can work if you want. Wanna see it?" Trevor said. He marveled at his work — seeing the fruits of his labor was the best part of the job. He caressed the radiometer, brushing its smooth yellow plastic against his palms. He rotated it, checking each speck of dust affixed to the exterior. The hum continued, past the point of tickling Trevor's ears. Hidden within its mysterious melody were faint clicks, a metronome of uncertainty.

"That's fine," Greg echoed, "you keep it."

Trevor ignored his brother, and this time, it was not intentional. He turned the radiometer onto its back, bringing the device's face into view. The glass display, powdered with intrusive dust, was almost cracked in two. Behind the frail zigzags, a series of numbers ranged from zero to five. The red needle, grim and slender, twiddled on a line. It pointed forward, erratic, a centimeter beneath the point of concern.

"Radioactivity." Trevor shot up to his feet, his eyes glued to the radiometer in his hands.

"Yes," Greg said. "It's a radiometer, not a walkie-talkie."

"Hey, I'm serious." Trevor motioned Greg forward with a flick of his fingers. Greg grumbled in disappointment before rising up from his careless laze. He bumbled forth, marshmallow stick still wrapped in his hand, and raised a single red eyebrow. Trevor tapped a trimmed fingernail against the musty glass display. The meter's needle spasmed, shooting to the danger zone before dropping back to safety.

"Yoicks!" Greg took a step back. His fingers loosened, halfway numb, and both his marshmallow and branch fell. The raging campfire inducted them into nightfall's ashes. Greg was too busy gaping with bulbous brown eyes to mourn for his fifth helping of dessert.

"I wasn't kidding," Trevor said, locking eyes with his brother. "It's not dangerous, but it's not exactly normal."

"You're telling me." Greg brushed the last blobs of marshmallow from the red jungle on his chin. The impish grin plastered on his face vanished, replaced with an inquisitive scowl.

Trevor waded through the grass, waving the radiometer in front of him. The needle leapt, up and down, tantalizing the danger zone with a tickling sharpness. He adjusted his stance, following the guidance of his machine, until the needle led him no farther. Trevor's nose wrinkled, but his search would not wither away on the horizontal plane. He squatted down, hunkering towards the rain-licked grasses. The red needle reacted with a jolt, confirming Trevor's suspicion.

"Whatever it is, it's underground," Trevor said.

"What's going on here? The real estate lady didn't tell us the house was built over a nuclear power plant."

"Well, I say that we..."

"Or," Greg continued, "on top of buried flying saucers? Like in that one movie a couple months ago?"

"We should get the shovels." Trevor struck with bluntness. Greg acknowledged his brother's command with slumped shoulders and a pitiful curled lip.

"But... But it's Friday."

Trevor ignored his brother's plea. He brushed the dust from his purple cardigan sleeves and paced towards the house's back door. Awash with eggshell hues and surrounded by classic brick, two shovels reclined nearby. They stood with steadfast patience, waiting to work on the planned vegetable garden. Greg and his demands for Friday leisure had put a premature end to that project. Tomatoes and bell peppers could wait, but radioactive traces would not. It did not matter what day of the week it was, Greg was going to take that shovel and like it.

Trevor returned, a wooden shovel within each palm, and thrust one at Greg's portly stomach. It collided with his sweater with a faint smack, shaking in the ebb and flow of past snack cakes.

"Hmph." His thick fingers coiled around the damp handle like freckled snakes. He held the shovel at a distance as if it were a soiled diaper. "Can't believe it's come to this. Let's get this over with, okay?"

"Sure thing." Trevor shook his head. "No promises that we'll be done anytime soon. It's not every day you find a mystery in your backyard."

"And when you do," Greg said, "it's a Friday."

They exchanged no more words. Trevor flung the tip of his shovel through the rampant grass. It pierced through the green, planting itself into the dark soil with a thud. The dirt, moist yet solid, split for the shovel yet retained its form.

"It's not putting up much of a fight." Trevor stomped the blade, and it sunk underground with a scraping cry. He gave a short grunt and pried a clod of dirt from the ground. It burst upwards, spewing geysers of errant specks as Trevor tossed the load of soil aside. Greg watched, mesmerized, as Trevor plunged again. The hole doubled in size, and Greg stood by, fascination brimming in his irises.

"Enjoying the show?" Trevor flung more dirt onto a growing mountain.

"R-Right! Sorry." Greg stumbled forward, cradling his shovel. He scooted around the circumference of the hole, peering towards its bottom. He squinted and placed a hand over his orange eyebrows. No strange objects had yet emerged from the subterranean depths. Greg could only sigh before clasping the shovel's handle. He had tried to delay, but he would have to work today after all.

"Sorry, Friday," Greg said as he sliced the soil's surface with a gentle touch. He pushed with half his might before uprooting a few handfuls of the dirt. The brothers synchronized. Trevor was a quarter note where Greg was a whole. They tore away at the backyard at the red needle's behest, delving deeper into the earth. The time they had spent grew alongside their flourishing pile.

"Ten minutes now." Greg smeared a palm across his drenched forehead. "Are we sure the dirt isn't radioactive?"

Trevor coughed into his fist, preparing to answer, when a faint _tink_ sounded off beneath him. The twins fell into captivated silence, faces struck with dread. Suspense held their heads back, pushing their gaze away, yet they fought against it. They craned their necks downwards, pointing their pale cheeks to their hole.

Their pupils flickered like radiometer needles.

Greg removed his foggy glasses and rubbed his eyes with clenched fists. Trevor kneeled, stepping into the hole, and held his face two feet away. It was an alien construct, a stranger to the pebbles and roots that surrounded it. It reflected the fiery light from its speckled surface, like stars in a backdrop of darkness.

"Trevor! Get away from that thing!" Greg placed his sweat-stained palm over his chest. His panting increased in speed at the sight of that _thing,_ yet he was unsure what _it_ was. Its form was unnatural, an impossibility of nature. It both curved and bent, tracing an elaborate shape out of ebony rock.

"It's some... some sort of sculpture." Trevor peered closer to discern its details against the shade of twilight. Its features revealed themselves to him, and Trevor found a pair of eyes staring back into his own. He gasped, turning back in utter shock, before his willpower returned to him. He gulped before challenging the onyx figurine again with a stone cold stare.

It did not lash out at him, nor did it whimper and recoil. It rested, unmoving, as if the brothers had not unearthed it in the first place. Trevor, with anxiety rattling his arm, reached towards the stoic carving. His fingers, apprehensive, dared to touch its rigid snout. When it did not growl in response, he brushed his hand along its reptilian face. The surface of the miniature statue was smooth, like cold bedsheets against bare legs. His skin felt relaxed, accompanied by a sense of faint numbness. He continued stroking the onyx, its twinkling spots shining onto his nails. He felt the spines of its slender back pass by, tapering off into a spiraling point. The polished path ended at its tail, and Trevor once again felt the damp soil.

"Trevor! Stop touching it!" Greg tossed his shovel aside, and it clattered against the nearby oak. "You don't know what it'll do, bro!"

Trevor sniffled. Without casting his brother an aside glance, he hunched down. The distance between Trevor's face and the stone dragon had shrunk further. Despite Greg's warning, Trevor felt a newfound sense of gumption. The dragon's lifeless eyes continued to dare him. He leaned, two teeth sunk into his lip, and swept the onyx figurine into his hands.

"Don't! Don't! Put it down, Trevor! It's dangerous!"

"It's not dangerous," Trevor said. He pointed to the radiometer, waiting in the nearby grass. "Needle says it's safe."

"It keeps passing into the danger zone!" Greg clapped both his hands against his ears and tugged at his hair.

"That's because it's old."

"So are you telling me you _didn't_ fix it?" Greg said.

Trevor could only sigh as he pried himself from the hole, onyx cushioned within his hands. He emerged, returning to the fireside, as Greg followed at a cautious distance. Trevor uncurled his hands, revealing the mysterious carving to the light of the fire. Even the dancing flames quelled at the display of the figurine. Its legs were parallel with its stomach, placed within watchful rest. A pair of black wings sprung upwards, ready to battle gravity's hold.

"It's some sort of dragon statue...!" Greg's jaw remained wide open as he paced through the expanse of their backyard. "Some sort of ancient artifact. That doesn't explain why it's radioactive, though. Unless you suppose there were nuclear engineers some centuries ago?"

"I doubt that's the case." Trevor stroked his chin with his empty hand, although there was only stubble there to rub. "I know it sounds completely unscientific, but I get the feeling that..."

Trevor's words, like the stone dragon's tail, trailed off into nothingness.

"That what?" Greg's skin brought forth new torrents of sweat, yet this time they were not from heat. "You think this thing is some sort of... some sort of..."

"It's like it's from out of this world." Trevor peered into the eyes of the dragon again. He wanted to believe it was nothing more than a hunk of rock with freaky chemistry. He felt foolish, immature, for concluding that it was supernatural. Yet to assume it somehow followed the rules of nature did not stifle its gaze.

"Then what the heck was it doing in _our_ backyard!?" Greg's voice overflowed with hysteria.

"I have no idea," Trevor said, "but I'm not sure how I feel about it." He continued to fondle the onyx figurine, brushing it as if were a puppy. He traced every contour, exploring its geometry. As if it were another radiometer, he familiarized himself with its form. There was a chance he would be working with the figurine in the future. Trevor's mindful hands were already preparing for that possibility.

"How you feel about it!? You're feeling all over it!" Greg shook his head, swaying his auburn hair in the nippy breeze. "Now you're going to have radioactive hands! Don't ever touch me again!"

"We don't even know what it can do yet." A new entrancement had pushed away Trevor's previous worries. 

"That's exactly what worries me." Greg pushed himself forth, slapping his palms down on Trevor's purple-clad shoulders. "It's clearly not normal, and you're acting like it's some sort of new toy."

Trevor's knuckles flexed, bending to and fro, as he reexamined the dragon's head. Above its beady eyes were a series of blunt spikes. They each curved backwards, creating a divot, before straightening themselves up again. The depressions invited Trevor, pleading for inspection by his fingertips. He followed their guidance, pressing the farthest spike first, testing its pressure. It held its posture, firm yet somehow soft, a paradox of geology. He moved ahead to the second, somehow expecting a different result, yet he received no change.

"Now you're acting so concerned," Trevor said. "You were fine with lounging about and eating marshmallows at first." He moved his finger to the frontmost spike of the onyx figurine's head. He pressed down, exerting force, daring the dragon to make a move. 

"That," Greg cried, "was before we dug it up and found it!"

The evening dark absorbed his yelp. In its place, a mechanized click echoed around them. Greg spiraled about. He glanced at the radiometer, suspecting Trevor's repaired device was already crumbling apart.

"What was that? That's wasn't a cricket... unless it was a really big cricket."

Trevor's teeth gnashed together. Nervousness returned to his bloodstream. He peered down to where his finger had tested the will of the onyx figurine. The spike had retreated into the skull of the stone dragon, his finger still planted on top of it. Trevor gasped, his other hand leaping to his chest. His lungs fought to supply his heartbeat, but they could not recover his calmness. Their discovery had been stunning, imposing. Yet now, it was finally breathtaking.

Greg, too, locked his eyes on the sunken spike. They petrified, targeting his brother's finger, as his nostrils flared.

"What did you do?" Greg's voice went monotone. Nothing had happened, yet grave seriousness spurred his inflection.

"I... I pressed it." Trevor quivered, not understanding his own actions, yet still afraid of their consequences. "There's some sort of button built into it. I suppose I must have pressed it."

"Yes," Greg said, "you did."

They waited, their speech hindered. They were at the mercy of the onyx, bewitched by the conundrum of its existence. The brothers waited, confident it would punish them for disturbing its decades-long rest. The onyx figurine sat in silence, contemplating the men's fate. Greg crammed his dirty nails into his mouth and chewed them with ferocity. Trevor's arms went limp, hanging like corpses, dropping the stone dragon back into the hole. Five seconds passed. Nothing happened. Greg pulled his fingers from his mouth with utmost caution. Trevor felt blood flow back to his arms, restoring sensation to the flesh below his shoulders.

The onyx figurine glared up at them with the same dark eyes.

"It doesn't do anything." Greg chuckled and shook his head. "We're worried about nothing at all."

From the hole, a flash emerged. It sprung forth from the dragon's eyes, blasting around them with the brightness of a sun. Each speckle of the onyx reached boggling intensity, spewing raw light. It surpassed the marshmallow fire's glow, casting artificial noon across the yard. Each blade of grass was thrust from olive to emerald. The crickets' chatter went unspoken as false assumptions of daytime dawned on them.

Greg and Trevor's faces displayed the same smothering horror — true twins in the moment. The backs of their throats were lit by the undying light. Their eyebrows bordered their hairlines. Their squeals crescendoed, a sound to match the onyx figurine's blinding display.

And then, there was nothing at all. The light blinked out, dissipating through the night, as if switched off. The tendrils of the campfire stretched, investigating the empty spaces around it. The grass submerged in the darkness, morphing into an invisible hindrance. The crickets, their brief confusion over, returned to their chorus of chirps. 

Among them all was an empty hole, the stone carving it once held now gone.

The two brothers that had stood alongside it, too, were worlds away.


End file.
